Next morning Heberdon awoke to another sickening reaction—not so violent as on the former occasion, for the small doses of the d**g that he was taking no longer had quite the same power over him, but terrifying enough in good sooth.
“What am I coming to?” he asked himself with a flash of panic-stricken insight. He could not face that question, and his hand was drawn longingly toward another of the little white papers. But with an expiring effort of the will he refrained from opening it. He could not bring himself to destroy the destroyer, though; he shut the book and put it back on its stand. Setting himself up as well as he could with several cups of black coffee—food was hateful to him—he went to the office.
His mind was in a state of frantic confusion. His villainous scheme had succee
